


Obeisance

by Neila_Nuruodo



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Play, F/M, Improvised Sex Toys, Light BDSM, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:08:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24078022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neila_Nuruodo/pseuds/Neila_Nuruodo
Summary: Nabriales, the Majestic...  For once, your king pays YOU obeisance, instead of demanding his due.
Relationships: Nabriales/Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Kudos: 27





	Obeisance

You don't bother to hide your smirk. Bound as Nabriales is, facedown upon your bed, it's not like he can see it anyway. His skin twitches, sliding over tight, well-corded muscle as he starts to turn his head over one shoulder.

“Ah-ah-ah,” you chide, tone sing-song. “No peeking without _permission,_ my king.” You reinforce your command with a firm tap upon his chin from the flexible cane in your hand.

A strangled groan, nasal and needy, is your response. Your lips stretch as you grin wider. Beneath you his hips move, grinding his pelvis _almost_ surreptitiously upon the sheets of your bed.

“Mistress,” he gasps, “might I have permission? To—” another undulation, another stifled groan “—to look upon your fair visage?”

You hum in thought. Flattery is nice.

His desperate need is nicer.

“You may not,” you say, savoring the way he tenses upon your second word and slumps at the third. Relenting, merciful, you add, “Not _just_ yet, my majestic.”

Slowly you draw the cane's tip down, trailing a path over his spine—and _how_ his skin pebbles, his muscles _bunch_ as you trace each ridge and indentation, each bump delineating a vertebra, on your path downward. He hisses, head rising as you reach his tailbone. You pause, watching for him to _disobey,_ but he masters the motion with a groan. Smiling your pleasure, you continue the motion, letting the cane’s tip lightly brush through the valley his buttocks create.

_This_ earns you another strangled sob and a _twitch_ of his head. Oh… how he _yearns_ to look, to see your face, to attempt to divine your plans for him. You raise the cane and cast it lightly across his back—hard enough to inscribe a faint line of red, to draw a hiss from him.

“A-ah…” he moans, falling back into your pillow face-first, subdued. Grinning, you bring your hand along that path, spreading his buttocks, thumb pressing, and bring the cane up, slipping the tip under his neck to haul him back.

His spine describes a gorgeous arc, a parabola almost, you think dimly, watching the way he flexes helplessly as you pull him toward you. His head cranes upward, the cane’s edge resting just below his chin, forcing his body to its full extension.

Overcome, you gasp, “Ah—look at you…” He shivers as your breath ghosts down his shoulder. “So _pliant,_ so _gorgeous…_ Yes,” you murmur, reverence rising in you as his scent _just_ teases your nostrils, risen from his skin by your ministrations.

The sound he makes in response is half plaint, half need. All delectable submission. It wrings a sound of pleasure from your own throat as you drink him in. Leaning close, you nibble tooth-edged kisses down the column of his throat, wringing gasp after moan from him. The scent of him is intoxicating—incense and myrrh—and you prise your lips from his shoulder before you wind up lingering overlong. Before he can seduce you with his natural allure.

The cane slips from his chin, letting him finally relax. You drag it more firmly down his back once more. Your hand, still lingering, clenched upon the firm muscle of one buttock, slips once more toward his center. Slyly you set the cane down, catching the bottle you kept conveniently nearby in your fingertips, slipping the cork free as quietly as you can. With your free hand you drizzle the slick lubricant over your other thumb where it rests in his crevasse.

He cries in surprise as the cool liquid hits both him and you, his hips bucking against the bed. With a grin you begin to swirl your thumb, warming the oil with friction and skin, inscribing circles about his puckered entrance… spinning ever closer. His moan of relief when you finally press in is gratifying.

To feel his body surrender beneath you is delectable; for a time you savor it, working your slicked digit in and out, reveling in the helpless sounds you draw from him. But you are not finished... not nearly. He _whines_ when you withdraw from him, leaving him needy; his body ripples against the bed as if he could draw you back with the force of his _lust._ Chuckling, pleased, you spill a bit more oil upon your palm.

“Do you still wish to look upon me?”

“Nghhh— Yes, _please,_ mistress!”

Who are you to deny such _earnest_ entreaty? You smile. “Then you may.”

His head cranes eagerly about, unmasked features naked for your enjoyment. Chocolate eyes burn over you, tracing molten heat across your skin. They widen as you raise the cane, a gasp slipping his lips.

With a wicked smirk you run the tip of the cane through your hand, slicking lubricant over it. You slow the motion, hand furling tight about the slender rod, pumping it into your curled fingers so the tip bursts free—just—at the end of each motion, popping most indecently into clear sight of the suddenly speechless Ascian beneath you.

“Tell me, my king… are you ready for your caning?” He gives an incomprehensible sound, pitched high; you offer a delighted laugh in return. Lowering the tip, you let the lubricated length slide once more down his arse’s crack.

“Mis-ngggg—!”

He cannot finish the word; his eyes roll up into his skull, face falling slack upon your pillow. With a lewd sound the tip of the cane presses into his tight aperture. He sobs wanton need at the intrusion, his hips rolling.

“More?”

The pitch of his moan—a shameless begging rise and fall—tells you all you need to hear. Suddenly feral in your need for his surrender, you return the pressure, sliding in, in, until you _feel_ him hitch beneath you. Slowly you withdraw, noting the bands of color upon your chosen instrument, and return to _nearly_ the same depth… again… again. His cries rise in volume each time, and then in pitch as you increase the pace.

“Are you ful _filled,_ my majestic toy?” you whisper, leaning close to his ear. He writhes, soft sobs escaping his lips in time to the stutter of his hips. Hungry for more of the gorgeous sounds he makes, you let your other hand fall below where the cane penetrates him. Slowly you press along his center, finding the taut, springy flesh below where your cane enters him and _massaging_ it.

Abruptly his motions grow frantic, his sounds the same. Chuckling as he presses back toward you in abject need, you change the angle of your chosen tool... just so. With a mangled attempt at your name, incomprehensible but still flattering, he breaks apart beneath you, jerking rhythmically as he spills upon the mattress. You seal your lips over the side of his neck, hard, claiming him as he writhes senselessly. His groans subside into pants as the ecstasy wringing him thin releases.

“Ah,” you murmur, pleased, “what a joy it is to see you prostrate beneath me, my king.” Gently you withdraw from him, laying the cane aside to put your hands on him. For a time he can only pant in supplication, debased beneath you, color washed over his frame slowly fading to his natural sun-kissed tone. You cannot look upon it without jealousy, bending to replace the memory of the sun’s loving touch with your own. Slowly you bring him back down, your needy fingers supplanting any previous claim. Making him _yours._

He will not forget this. Not if you have any say in the matter… and by the reception your ministrations received, you dare to hope you will again have some _say_ in his _matter._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to everyone who reads! And special thank-you to the [Book Club](https://discord.gg/KscgV8r)'s enablement, without whose brainstorming and encouragement this story would never have been born. If you're looking for a community to provide wholesome yet horny encouragement, why not pop in?


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